Servant's devotion
by Ariadne Narissal
Summary: Story of a man torn between love and duty.
1. Prologue

ANNOUNCEMENTS:  
  
1) I do not own all characters in this story. Aarin Gend and Lord Nasher belong to Bioware.  
  
2) English is not my first language. There will be misspelled words, grammatical errors and other stuff but I'll do my best to correct them.   
  
3) Otherwise, enjoy :)   
  
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Prologue  
  
"I can not believe you did it!", Ariadne Narissal shouted at Lord Nasher who was sitting on his throne. Old man tried to keep his face expressionless, but those who knew him well could tell he was angry. Very angry.   
  
"I rule here, I make the decisions!", Lord Nasher's tone was dangerous. "She almost destroyed my city and deserved death. People demanded punishment."  
  
"Have you learned nothing? You are crazy old man, Nasher Alagondar. Don't you remember what happened last time you tried to satisfy peoples'bloodlust? She did terrible mistake, but she repented. She trusted me, that's why she came to court and begged for your forgiveness. She trusted your rightfulness.", woman's face was in tears when she breathed last words.  
  
Spymaster Aarin Gend had stood silently in his usual place next to throne, almost hidden by shadows since he still did not like to appear in public. But now he stepped forward and was reaching out to her, when Nasher spoke, his voice lashing like a whip.  
  
"No one insults me like that in front of this throne, Ariadne. You should call yourself lucky, Saviour of Neverwinter, to be who you are. Otherwise you would share Aribeth's fate, the very one which made you to defy Neverwinter's rightful lord."  
  
"But I am man who can show mercy. You may leave. Now. You are no longer welcome in Neverwinter."  
  
Woman in red-black-armor held her head high and did not turn her gaze when soldiers came to take her away. But the one she looked at, eyes filled with sorrow and disbelief, was not Lord Nasher Alagondar. 


	2. Silent thoughts

His desk was full of scrolls as usual. Some had dropped on the floor, others were in small piles on the table, yet they all were closed.   
  
Sighing, Feryan dropped the ones he was carrying and headed towards the balcony where his master sat.  
  
Aarin Gend was supposed to be studying the information he received from his spy in Luskan. With its new captains, Luskan was growing stronger every day and might once again clash with Neverwinter. The issue was important and his report to Lord Nasher should not only survey the situation, but also suggest what actions Neverwinter should take in response to such an event.  
  
However, today he felt old and tired, not eager to face the challenges of daily life. The game of intrigue and whispered words was not easy for a player, but Aarin Gend was the master. Letting one's personal thoughts interfere with work was something novice thieves did when their mentor first trusted them with a task. As a long-time professional, he should've known better by now.  
  
Yesterday, he had witnessed a rather unpleasant situation. Tomi Undergallows, a halfling who had aided Ariadne in her mission, was accused in Lord Nasher's court for trying to establish a new thieves guild in Neverwinter. Aarin had no fondness for these 'organizations' in Neverwinter and neither did Lord Nasher. Yet that was where their similarities stopped. Unlike Lord Nasher, the Spymaster did not base his dislike on the legalities. Somehow, in his heart, Tomi Undergallows was ill suited for the position that Calliara once held.   
  
Nasher had announced his judgement: exile. Though Tomi was never to return to the city, he was given a brief moment to say goodbye to his friends and companions.  
  
"Go to Cormanthor. She is there," Daelan had said.   
  
Aarin was unsure of what to do. When she had left almost a year ago, he refused to send his contacts after her. He did not want to hurt her even more than he already had. It had felt best not to know anything about her, to cut all contact between them. Now he wasn't so sure. But it was too late to change his mind. Probably his contacts couldn't find her anymore. During their time together she had learned enough skills of rogue to spot those who followed her. Aarin had taught her himself.  
  
It had been such fun at the time. She would come back to the little cabin in Beorunna's Well, silent and weary from her battles. She was always full of new scars which made him feel death's cold touch in his heart. The situation had been grim, and even the joy of a-new-love-found did not ease his worries. He hoped fervently that he wouldn't have to ask what had happened to her, to know every danger she faced while he stayed in his cabin, coordinating his spies. Coordinating! It even sounded ridiculous. He remained behind, talking to his 'staff' and trying to understand all the pieces of information, while the woman he loved battled dragons, giants and... He could not find the words to describe the frustration he felt.  
  
So to find something that could lighten their evenings, he taught her what he knew of the rogue's silent art. She was a ranger with a hunter's grace, accustomed to moving unseen and unheard, but opening locks and disarming traps was new to her. He kept poor Tomi busy "borrowing" all kinds of locks, but took care of traps personally. One had been especially nice, Aarin smiled at the memory. Traditional, maybe, but he would never forget how she laughed and screamed at the same time when a bucket of cold water fell on her when she opened their bedroom door. Her brown, bobbed hair dripped with water and her green eyes shone with laughter and surprise when she went for him, screaming of revenge and tickling him fiercely. Tickling changed to deep, heart-warming kisses, kisses into...  
  
His memories were interrupted when his apprentice, Feryan, appeared. He sighed sadly, wondering what had happened. His life wasn't what he had thought it would be. He was lonely, serving as Lord Nasher's spymaster and prisoner, with a sentence which could and probably would last for years and years still. His freedom was a subject Nasher was unwilling to discuss with him. It was hard for Aarin to believe his friend and lord still seemed to think the Chultan would run away at the first opportunity if Nasher was to give him his freedom. Gend had roused the subject the first time when he met Ariadne and again a few times after she had left, but always Nasher directed their discussion to other things.  
  
After she had left, his chains began to chafe him. Badly. Before the plague, he had enjoyed his life as spymaster, but now...something was amiss. He did not know what to do. For the first time in his life, he was hesitant.  
  
"Lord Nasher wishes to talk with you. He has recieved an embassy from Silverymoon," Feryan told him. Slowly, Aarin rose and went to serve, once again. 


	3. What comes around, goes around

Nasher  
  
------  
  
His back ached. Delegation from Silverymoon had a lot to say, and sitting on cold stone made his gout even worse. Lord Nasher remembered days when he battled minotaurs and suddenly, without warning, he had become an old man with gout. It wasn't fair.  
  
But things were rarely fair, and it was the way of the world. Idealistic thoughts were all very nice but they tended to change after one had spent a few years as a ruler. Nasher had once known a young baron who thought his barony would be rightful place where no innocents were wronged. He couldn't accept when he saw his people as they were; ignorable and bitter peasants, arguing over so little things and even killing each other if nobody stopped them. After two years the young baron gave up his scepter and went to monastery. Nasher thought he was Ilmater's priest nowadays. Fit calling for fine lad.   
  
But being fine lad didn't always help, he sighed as he looked at his friend.  
  
Spymaster was so quiet these days. And if Nasher's sight wasn't failing, Aarin's hair was turning gray. Only a few hairs, but it was a beginning.  
  
How old was he? It was hard to say. When Aarin became his Spymaster, he had been young man, in his early twenties. Eyes shining with hope and love for that thief Calliara. Of course Nasher had known. It was only emotion which was easy to see in Aarin's face.   
  
And when Aarin did what was necessary, that..youth's innocence, Nasher called it, had slowly started to vanish.   
  
Aarin was nearing forty now. Twenty years and he'd be in same rather sorry state as Nasher himself. Those who claimed old age was the best did not know what they talked about. It was so hard on him. He had been fighter, a man who relied on strength of his arms. When he realized he couldn't lift the sword he'd once used... Oh, it had been such a dark day for him.  
  
Almost like THAT day. Nasher grimaced. He didn't want to think of it. It was unpleasant enough when court bard insisted on singing the tale of Neverwinter's saviour. He couldn't tell why he never had liked her, but it had started when they first met after she had found all the ingredients.   
  
A small voice in his mind said that maybe they were too alike. He could see many similarities in his younger self and halfelven ranger. They both were proud, headstrong and unwilling to forgive. Every time he saw her striding around in red-black-armor, holding those two rapiers in her hands (she even had named them, Black Rider Quill and Rapier of High Road. The latter was dripping acid and ruining floors in his palace), he remembered once again how he had become trapped in old man's fragile body. He should have been the one to battle Morag! He--  
  
"Are you all right, my lord?", Aarin asked.   
  
"Oh, yes.", Nasher said quickly, not wanting Aarin to know what he was thinking. "It's only the gout. Could you please fetch my medicine for me? It's in my room, third drawer from the top."  
  
Spymaster nodded and Nasher settled more comfortably on his throne. Ache would fade away soon, and while he waited, he would ask the court bard to sing something nice. Maybe a song about his own adventures.  
  
~~*~  
  
When the bard played the last notes, Nasher flinched. Aarin was supposed be back by now. He shaked his head and sulkily stood up, leaning heavily on his walking stick. Or scepter, as he preferred to call it. Gend was probably fumbling through his things though he had been given specific instructions.  
  
When he turned to the corridor where his room was, Nasher saw the door was ajar. He frowned a little. Aarin shouldn't leave doors open like that, one could never know if there were lightfingered servants. Feeling irritated, he walked to the door and pushed it open.  
  
The room was empty. There was a broken bottle on the floor. His gout medicine! Now he had to ask priests of Tyr to make more, and it meant that he had to bear the pain longer. Why on earth Aarin had flopped it? Thieves did not do such things.   
  
Staring at the open drawer, a very bad feeling rose in his mind. It couldn't be...By Beshaba's name! Almost too quickly for a man of his age, Nasher practically ran to the chest of drawers and cursed aloud when his suspicion was confirmed.  
  
False bottom was neatly moved out of place to reveal a folded piece of yellow paper. Loathing, Nasher took it even though he knew very well what it said.  
  
"My beloved, " he read it once again, "prison guard promised to give this to you before I have to leave. Aarin, I'm not angry to you. I was, I tried to be, but I cannot. You did only what you said you would do. If you still can love me even though what happened, please meet me by the City Gates at the sunrise. I pray Solonor Thelandira you'll be there, for if you don't come, I know you do not share my feelings and I will never bother you again."  
  
His knuckles paled as he crushed the tiny piece of paper in his fist and throwed it into the fireplace.  
  
"Giles!"he shouted and his chamberlain who was never far from his rooms, hurried to him. "Fetch Aarin for me."  
  
"I'm sorry, my lord, but master Gend has left. I saw from the balcony how he rode like all the devils of Nine Hells were after him. I hope it weren't some bad news.", little man's face was anxious.  
  
Bad news, indeed. Nasher clenched his teeth and told Giles to send that Feryan to him. It was time to see if the apprentice was ready to beat the master. He'd better be. 


	4. Protector of the Lost

Ariadne  
  
-------  
  
In the moonlight she was pale, somehow eerie sight. She moved silently through the forest, carrying a light backpack and two rapiers. It was a bad night to leave her domain, spirits of the dead were restless. But nothing lived in the Vale of Lost Voices, and she had to find her food elsewhere.  
  
The drow were on the move, she had heard. But as long as they stayed away from the Vale, and they would, she had no quarrel with them. This was her domain. Elves did not build or settle in the area, they visited it only during the daytime and always alone. It suited well to her.  
  
When she had stood at the City Gates almost an year ago, watching how sun rose high and waiting for one who never came, her first instinctive thought after poignant disappointment was Cormanthor. She'd go home to lick her wounds, maybe visit friends and family she had not seen for years.   
  
But when she arrived, she realized things were different now. Her woodelven clan did not welcome her with open arms. Great heroine she might be, but when they told her that her brother had decided to join the Auzkovyn Clan, she knew they wouldn't take her in.  
  
Her mother's kin was long dead. Her brother had betrayed their father's kin for the drow and disgraced his family with that act. Eventually, she had decided to leave, but before that she wanted to pay her respects to the dead in her ancestral ground.   
  
Protector of the Lost, they called her nowadays. She made infrequent visits to the elven settlements, but elves kept out of the way when she bought necessary equipment and left soon after. They respected her but also feared her, for nothing lived in the Vale of Lost Voices.  
  
She heard an eerie sound and quickened her steps. Once she had hunted the undead and knew how they could drain the life force of mortal being with one, light touch. She was the Protector, but she protected those who visited the burial ground as much as those who did not breath.  
  
Transparent figure of woman was waiting for her. Ariadne's green eyes were very bright as she kneeled down, laying her burden aside.  
  
"Laeteriel", she whispered and bowed her head.  
  
Ghost's voice was like wind whispering in dead leaves, crackling and draft at the same time. No words could be heard, but she spoke and laid her hand lightly on Ariadne's shoulder.  
  
Ranger stirred and in the moonlight her skin looked even paler than before. Woman's transparent form brightened up, and after a while she took her hand away.  
  
Protector of the Lost collapsed on the ground, staring at the sky with glazed eyes. She saw how a man spurred in the night, looking determined but on his guard. In dream she knew he was being followed, but he knew it as well. His soul was ablaze with bright light, it wasn't that small, smothering flame she remembered. His glow hurted her eyes, but soon, too soon he vanished from her sight.  
  
With her every ardous breath, she was vanishing as well. She closed her eyes and drifted farther away from the world of living.  
  
Transparent woman smiled bleakly and bent down. Her white, cold fingers felt Ariadne's neck and unlocked a heavy, golden necklace she wore. Slowly, the ghost roused her arms and locked the necklace around her own neck, singing unearthly melody which echoed in the Vale of Lost Voices. 


End file.
